


Open Up

by AceAthena



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Bad Parenting, Canon Compliant, Depression, Dogs, Game Spoilers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Mentioned Amanada, Mentioned Mary Christiansen, Sort of? - Freeform, dad jokes, me calling the game out for not letting me adopt a dog, whittling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-06 02:55:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11591457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceAthena/pseuds/AceAthena
Summary: Takes place before, during, and after the second date with Robert from his perspectiveSome days it gets harder, he gets up and looks in the mirror and sees a greying, hung over piece of shit that can barely keep his life together.





	Open Up

**Author's Note:**

> Some of this dialogue is ripped straight from the game, other stuff I made up. If you've been on Robert's second date, you'll probably be able to tell what's what.

He left the windows open in the summer, trying to bring something into the house besides the smell of cigarette smoke, alcohol and dog. Robert doesn't so much mind Betsy’s smell though, it reminds him that he has something to get up for in the morning. ‘Get off your drunk ass and let the dog out, feed her, scratch her, make sure she doesn't get into the garbage’. Makes it easier to face the day when he puts it in the perspective. Can’t leave your empties lying around, the dog will get into them, clean up your clothes off the floor or the dog will chew on them, put the dishes in the dishwasher so the dog won't try to get on the counter’.

Doesn't work every day, not by a long shot, but most days he peters around his house, trying to live through the daily tasks because if he didn't, who would take care of Betsy?

Some days it gets harder, he gets up and looks in the mirror and sees a greying, hung over piece of shit that can barely keep his life together.

He thinks it's a victory when he forces himself to stand there and stare his reflection down until he can move away, stumble down the hall, and toss back some Advil with a stale beer he left out overnight. It's about ten at night, he passed out somewhere past dawn the night, well, morning before, before after watching Mary stumble back into her own home, somehow managing to do so silently once she got back into the house. Practice, too bad her alcoholism and misery were more than apparent to her children, so being able to sneak in late without anyone noticing wasn't really anything.

The night was ticking by, and sitting around his stale house with the slight breeze from outside and Betsy fast asleep didn't interest him much. There was an itch under his skin to move, get away from his surroundings and all the memories they brought back. He never liked the interior, but it wasn't like he picked it, just couldn't be assed to change it. He considered moving out at least a dozen times in the past year alone, leaving everything behind and just packing up the dog in his truck and trying to find a way to leave himself behind in the house along with all the possessions that tied him down. He never acted on it though, just drove far enough out of town to feel away from it before always getting pulled back home. He couldn't escape his past, and he couldn't sell this place if he tried.

He pulled out his phone to check the time and saw a whole shit tonne of messages he hadn’t bothered looking at stacked up.

Two from Mary, one wondering why he had skipped out on happy hour with her, and another just the day before, telling him if he didn’t respond in three days she was going to presume he was dead and take everything he had left her in his will. His will consisting of, ‘Mary gets first pick of the booze, Val gets everything else. I don’t really care what she does with it, sell it, trash it, whatever, it's hers. Make sure someone takes care of Betsy.’

There’s one from Joseph, that he deletes without reading because he knows exactly what's it’s going to say and he doesn't have the energy to manage an eye roll right now. Damien actually messaged him, said Mary had mentioned he wasn't responding to anything, and given Mary had shown what could have been interpreted as maybe half a shit about anything that wasn’t herself, Damien himself, or a random cat, he took this a genuine concern. He looked at that to get rid of the notification and then promptly ignored it.

The last set of messages was a few from the new guy down the street, Ryan.

Robert's throat tightened up a bit as he thought about him, bright-eyed and stupid as hell neighbour. The last time they had hung out, he had left a bit confused. He wasn't sure if he actually believed about half the shit Robert talked about or if he just found it genuinely fun to follow along with him. He laughed and threw rocks at cars and tried to put himself in between him and a pissed off youth the last time they hung out, even tried to play along with Mary. Even managed to make him laugh.

Some straight-laced, what was it, software engineer, with his perfect, only cutely rebellious daughter, the new fixation of everyone on the block, and he wanted to hang out with him again.

He's grabbing his jacket before he can even decide it's a bad idea and walks out the front door. He pulls his truck out of his driveway and starts messaging the guy, trying to get him out of his house before Robert realised what he was doing was incredibly stupid.

Ryan pulls himself out of his house not long later, he looks like he had just been sleeping. His auburn hair was sticking up in odd places and he had forgone contacts for a large clunky pair of glasses. “So, where are we going? It better be good, I put pants back on for you.” He said, yawning as he scratched the side of his face, five o'clock shadow showing on his usually trim face.

Robert was staring too much at his face. He nodded for him to get in the truck and then pulled away. They were out of the cul-de-sac in moments, a few more minutes after that they were merging onto the highway. Once they’re out of the city Robert rolls his window down, dangling one arm out of the truck as he drives. The air whips by his face, tousling his already pretty messy hair, only slightly drowning out the sound of the radio.

“Robert?” He said, looking over at him as he stayed silent, the other shifting in his seat.

“Oh, I heard you.”

He takes him up to his sightseeing spot, tells him a terrible masturbation joke and accidentally threatens him with a knife.

The following silence is almost relaxing, the distant chirping of crickets and frogs in the distance, the city light twinkling in front of them.

He remembered bringing Val up here when she was still little. His little monster got into so much trouble, when he had the time he liked to take her out to chill, sit in silence and teach her how to pick out constellations, throw rocks and park signs, and tell ghost stories.

It felt almost a lifetime ago, looking back on it, it was like looking at a different person. Someone who made time for his family, took time off, and found competent ways of dealing with his stress.

“Um.”

He pulled another knot out of the shortened branch he whittled it away, trying to bring out the facade of a small dog out of it. Marilyn argued with him for hours over what kind of dog breed to get. He was dead set on a pit bull, wouldn't budge, but when she brought home that stupid little terrier, he couldn't say no. Bruiser was a good boy, and Betsy was a good living legacy.

“Uh...”

Of course here he was, sitting out in the woods again, making shit up like if he told the truth for too long he would burst into flames, next to some guy who had someone to go home to, who didn't need to force himself to take care of a dog to try to take care of himself. Well adjusted, supportive father to a loving daughter. Well, he did have a dog and they didn't so that's one thing he had up on them, at least. A dog, all he had. Great thing to brag about over Ryan, who he just happily say next to him going along with anything he made up on the spot like he had nothing better to do.

“Robert I’m dying.”

His head swivels around and he looks down at the man's hand, now covered in blood as he tried to stem it. Robert swore and grabbed him a bandana out of his jacket and clamped it over his oozing digit.

“Well you see, that's where you went wrong, you’re supposed to cut the wood, not your fingers, I knew a guy who cut his hand every time he whittled because he never thought to just flip the stick around to cut with the grain away from himself. ”

“Did he get a massive infection from a rogue splinter and had to have his whole amputated, that he then kept in a jar on his mantle as a reminder of his stubbornness?”

“No.”

“Oh…”

“What? Not all of my stories are horrifying lies about body horror.”

Ryan snorted and rolled his eyes as he watched a Robert patch his thumb back up. Nothing fun about infected wounds, he takes the time to care for it properly and gently. He wasn't going to convince this guy to hang out with him again if he left him there with a messed up thumb.

“You okay?” Robert looks up at an almost startled Ryan.

“Yeah, I’m good.” He replied, taking the tube of antiseptic Robert handed off to him, it was half empty anyways, and this guy looked accident prone.

“Keep that cut clean.” He said and sat back down beside him. It's a nice moment, a show of kindness that isn't usually in character for him. So, of course, he has to ruin it with more bullshit stories. Makes up something he's told a million times and watched as the guy stutters, and then laughs, calling him out on it.

His heart thumps in a way he doesn't appreciate but can't deny how it sent a bit a warmth in his chest, and that he felt a bit less hollow.

“There you are, be careful though. They’re attracted to the smell of blood.”

“Wait, what? What’s attracted to the smell of blood?”

Robert launches into his Dover Ghost stories, a real classic, he’s told it probably a thousand times but it never gets old. Robert knows how his face looks, how serious he makes his voice gravel. It’s a talent really. He weaves the story, and to his credit, Ryan immediately calls him out on it being total bullshit. He’s been hanging around him too much, he had taught him too well.

“Tell that to Betsy.” He said, pulling out his wallet to show him the picture of the dog he had been intending to adopt before Marilyn had swooped in and picked out their dog for him. Before their conversation can get any further a sickening deep howl rips through the night, much too close for comfort. He stiffens and stares out into the woods. Robert knew all of his stories were bullshit, and there wasn't anything out there, but this, this unsettled him. They didn’t stick around much longer, piling back into the truck and pulling back out onto the highway. Whatever it was, kids, a sick coyote, something actually out to get them, he didn’t want to stick around to find out. A lot of his paranoia was played up for the gag of it all, but that was more of a front for his deep-rooted anxiety over the unknown.

Once the open road has settled into them for a bit, he starts to relax, sinking back into his seat as Ryan eventually does the same. They’ve escaped potential doom, but he finds his mind wandering back to his thoughts back on the truck bed.

“Thanks for coming out tonight, it was fun.”

Ryan agrees, and as much as he hates it, he keeps talking.

“Sorry I haven’t been in touch, I’ve just... Been in a way lately, had to get out of the house.” He explained and paused a moment. “Had to be around somebody.” Somebody who he might actually be able to think cares, cares in a way that they’re actually able to show, instead of behind another wall of alcoholism and self-destructive habits, or cares more than just about sliding a hand down his pants.

“You doing okay, man?” Ryan asked, turning from his stiff view out the front windshield to look over at him again, leaning up against the door of the pickup.Robert doesn’t know why he can't make up his mind whether or not he wants this compassion. He yearns for it, wants to take Ryan’s hand and just have something to anchor him, but the second it was actually offered to him, it made his skin itch, made him want to show his teeth and scare it off because it couldn’t possibly be real right? It’s not like he really wanted it, or deserved it.

“Been doing a lot of thinking.” Robert rolls down his window and lights a cigarette, taking the first drag, he could use the nicotine right about now. “As I get older I feel more and more that I’m just drowning in this sea of regret… I was so busy chasing after these things that I thought would make me happy that I didn’t think about anyone else. All I cared about was myself I didn’t even think…” That destroying his relationships in this pursuit would leave him alone and pathetic later in life, that letting his bad habits overtake him would just result in getting so far lost them they’re basically parts of his personality, that he would be forcing himself to get out of bed in the morning to take care of his dead wife’s dog and trying to actively avoid any information about his daughter so that he could avoid having any sort of influence over her life anymore. That this would be his life.

“Maybe I’m just built like this, or maybe I do it to myself, maybe it's my own choice that I’m as unhappy as I am.”

Ryan stays blessedly quiet for a long moment before he responds.

“It must’ve taken a lot for you to want to tell somebody this.” Right, like he wasn’t just dumping this all out of himself now, onto someone who didn’t have anywhere else to go. “You’re a mysterious guy, You don’t have to be.”

“Ryan, I… I agree with your first statement.” He managed to force himself to admit. “But being mysterious is a very important part of my personality, I have taken years to cultivate this specific brand of compulsive lying and leather jackets into a marketable set.” He hears Ryan snort out a laugh and shake his head, nudging him with his elbow.

“I swear if you ever do that to me again, I’ll cut your elbow off, you don’t want to know how I can cut you elbow out while still leaving the rest of your arm intact, I had to learn that one the hard way, you haven’t seen gruesome until you have to vivisect part of your best friends arm to free him from a mangled bear trap.” Robert watches Ryan stiffen as his voice drops and his eyes grow sharp, but then he’s back to laughing and rolling his eyes.

“I’ll have you know, I have had to smash a pickle jar off a friend's hand without horribly disfiguring it.”

“Hah- that... you said that a bit too seriously.”

“That’s because it’s true, I think Craig still doesn't eat pickles anymore.”  
“That’s where he got the scar on his hand?”

 

“Yep, but you know, I think we were, uh.” Ryan motioned between the two of them. “Having a moment, talking about feelings, that we sort of derailed to have a good about it but.” He adjusted himself, sitting back up a bit straighter. “I really am happy you told me this.”

Of course, supportive, nice, genuine to the very end no matter what was going on. This guy could have told him to fuck off when he showed up at the hour he did, but he didn't. He packed up in his car and let him drive him to the middle of nowhere to have a weird, quiet time of cutting his hand open and being scared off by ghosts. He wasn’t used to this sort of thing. Mary was easy company, both of them had their own demons so they just drank, snarked, and ignored their problems together. Ryan cared. He could tell, the moment of hesitation before playing along with his gags, that he wanted to show concern like some gullible asshole who’s first reaction was empathy.

“Do you... ever... wish you were a dad?” It’s a stupid question, this guy is the perfect dad. Probably had one of those world’s best dad mugs and it wasn't an exaggeration.

“Of course,” Ryan said after a beat and Robert glanced over at him with a side glance.  
“I mean I do the best I can, but there are still things I’ve messed up, wished I could do better, go back and fix my mistakes so Amanda wouldn’t have to go through me trying to bumble through fatherhood. But I don’t have the answers, even with hindsight, I don’t know if anyone does.” Ryan said, rubbing the side of his face, taking his eyes of Ryan to stare out the window again. There’s a bit of age that doesn’t usually show in him in that moment, and exhaustion, obviously this chipper attitude and near flawless parenting didn’t come as easily as it looked.

“It’s funny, I look at your relationship with your daughter and it seems perfect,” Robert says, tapping fingers on his steering wheel.

“It’s not.”

“At least you’re there for her.”

Ryan keeps staring out the window and Robert thinks they’re going to fall back into silence for the rest of the drive before he speaks again.

“I just hope I’m a better father to my kid than my dad was to me.”

“What did your dad do?” Robert asks, picking his words carefully, peeking into this less idyllic version of Ryan’s life seemed like something he shouldn’t be seeing. If anything it was going to be a lot harder to project his own parenting insecurities onto him and fun way to hate himself.

“It’s more like what he didn’t do.” That sounded familiar. “He was always so, standoffish, stoic, I don’t think he once told me that he loved me, or showed much of any sort of outward emotions.” Robert feels like this is some sort of ironic twist that some higher being is pulling on him, just to twist the knife a little more. “He cared so much more about his work than he ever did about me or my mother, anything we were going through could never be more important than what he was doing, as you can guess I uh, ended up as kind of a rebellious kid.” Ryan wet his lips, carding a hand through his hair.

“... Do you hate him?”

“No, not anymore, but I didn’t talk to him for the first year I moved out of the house.” Was this a setup? Had someone told Ryan about his life and he was just playing him for a gag. His hands tightened on the steering wheel as a guttural anger bubbled up in him.

“But after I became a parent, I just feel bad for him.” Robert’s quick rising temper managed to pause for a moment. “He missed out on all the best moments of my life when I look back on the happiest moments of my life, they’re with Amanda… And Alex. I look back on when I was younger and he just... wasn’t there.” His anger manages to settle down to a simmer, easy to fall as it is to rise. It was a stupid thing to get upset over, just an anxious thought that turned him against his friend for a moment. If he had better sense he might actually feel ashamed.

“It hurt like hell when I had to leave him to die in that Belarusian prison.” The tone is so genuine and matching with everything else they had been talking about it caught him off guard.

“ _What?_ ”

“No, he’s retired in Florida with my mom, we go there every Christmas.”

They share a good laugh over that one, the guy finally caught him up in one, takes skill to do that. Also helped to de-escalate that whole very emotionally vulnerable moment they were having, that he was already starting to regret. He’s aired his insecurities, no matter how minor. He liked to joke that Ryan was pretty damn gullible but he knew he wasn’t actually stupid, and more than a little observant. He’d know something was up. Funnily enough, he actually trusted the guy not to bring it up, not in a ‘let’s pretend neither of us either had emotions ever again’ but in that stupid fatherly ‘you can tell me when you’re ready’ way.

He drops Ryan off at his house and let him keep the knife, it wasn’t as if he had a shortage of them. He had years to build up a collection of nobody knowing what to get him for Josephs stupid block wide secret Santa besides knives, dvd box sets, and one actually very thoughtful gift from Hugo in a punching bag he got from a garage sale.

He almost has to force himself to walk back into his house, knowing this meant the end of the night. Now that he was alone that itch was back under his skin, less, much less, but it was still there. Once he closes the door he notices that the wind blowing through the windows had scattered a few things around the place, a few papers over the floor. Everything feels shifted like this wasn’t the same place that he walked out of a few hours ago. Betsy comes trotting down the hall towards him, visibly tired but still happy to see him. He scooped her up in his arms and turns on the TV, letting her fall asleep on his chest as h relaxes into his couch. He hadn’t had the energy in the past few days to do anything he actually enjoyed, might as well ride the high as long as he had it.

The next morning when he woke up the sun was actually still up, and he could hear the sound of lawnmowers and birds through the window. He’s sober, and awake before noon, somebody stop the presses. He pulls himself up off the couch, looking down at the clothes he was wearing the night before, and a few day prior to that as well. He pours Betsy a bowl of food and refills her water. He manages to pull himself into the shower and scrub down the few days worth of skin, sweat, and general grime. He feels a bit lighter once he gets out. The day becomes a bit easier after that. He dumps all of the long gone bad leftovers out of his fridge, makes himself a coffee, manages to throw as many bottles he can into the recycling.

Robert knows this ride won’t last forever, that he’s going to go out and get drunk tonight and in the morning he’s going to have to force himself out of bed with guilt, but this right now, it feels nice.

His phone dings and he looks down at it.

I had fun last night, we should fuck off into the woods and almost get eaten by ghosts more often ;) -Ryan

Robert snorts and rolls his eyes, but he smiles anyway. Things are looking brighter today, why not indulge it why he can.

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes about my Dadsona: His name is Ryan Hawthorne and he's a software engineer, who loves the history channel, space, his daughter, and assholes in leather jackets. He was previously married to a male spouse and Amanda is adopted.


End file.
